Page 21 of Against All Odds

The pasta was fresh and light, the wine smooth, and the conversation easy.

After hearing all the horror stories of dating after divorce, I felt like I had fallen into a basketful of goodies with Heath. He’d taught me how to ski, and then cooked me a meal, and to top it off, he was an excellent conversationalist. Going back to being a cliché, Jack was abysmal at dating or being a partner, compared to Heath.

“This is so good.” I twirled another forkful of pasta. “Where’d you learn to cook?”

“My mother insisted her sons know how to cook at least one good meal. But after the divorce, I started experimenting. I spend my days talking to people and sitting in bars and restaurants in a resort. When I come home, I want the quiet. I want a home-cooked meal.”

“I don’t know what I like,” I told him honestly. “As in, what I prefer. I have to learn that about myself. I think I like going out. I like being around people—not especially to talk with them, but to have them so I don’t feel lonely. I suddenly think being all alone is requiring some adjusting.”

“Since I’ve been divorced longer than you have, I’m happy to mentor you through the process.” He winked at me and held his wine up for a toast.

I touched my glass to his. “Teaching me how to ski and how to be a good divorcee. Maybe we should just call you Professor Falkner.”

For dessert, he confessed he’d picked up a vanilla velvet cake at the Baker’s Table because he couldn’t bake if his life depended upon it.

The vanilla cake with mascarpone cream cheese frosting went very well with a shot of espresso. We shared the habit of drinking coffee at night and not worrying about being able to sleep.

“I get into bed, and I’m a log.” I licked the tines of my fork. “I used to not be able to do that growing up, but now, there could be an earthquake, and I’ll sleep through it.”

“I have only now started sleeping well.” He took a sip of his espresso. “I realized that it didn’t have anything to do with what I ate or drank. It was stress that woke me up and kept me up. Magically, after I decided to divorce, I began to sleep like a baby.”

I laughed. “And no one talks about that as a benefit of divorce.”

“Right?” Heath agreed. “Everyone told me it was going to be a shitshow. And it was, especially when Alexa said she wanted us to go to marriage counseling, which was a nightmare. When she finally agreed to sign the papers, she said she wanted to move to Aspen. I was worried about Juno. She was fourteen and leaving everything she knew. I was trying to figure out how to make that work for Juno, and me with my job. But, through it all, I slept fine.”

“How’s Juno doing now?”

“Good. She’s very resilient—and smarter than Alexa and me. She adjusted just fine. I miss San Diego. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing.”

Of course, he surfed.

“Would you move back?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Depends upon where Juno ends up going to college. For now, I’m here, and I’m staying so she has both her parents with her.”

He was a dad first, I thought, smiling to myself. That, in my book, made him a decent man—with a good heart and a sensible mind. I knew, deep down, that spending time with him, however fleeting, was something I would never regret. It was probably foolish to trust so quicklyafter what had happened with Jack, but I couldn’t help it. His charm and sincerity disarmed me completely.

We cleaned up together after dinner. I insisted.

We took our glasses of wine to his living room. I settled on the blue couch, my feet tucked under me. Heath walked up to his entertainment center. It had a large flat-screen television, and I suspected there were speakers around the house. But he also had a turntable. It was so quaint and said so much about Heath. I think he was a traditionalist in some ways—not enough to stay in a marriage where his wife no longer shared his values but enough to rely on LPs for music.

Soon, the soft, moody sound of Miles Davis filled the room.

He came to me and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

I hesitated, feeling a flutter in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years.

“I’d love to.” I set my glass of wine on the coffee table next to the sofa and slid my hand into his.

We moved slowly in the middle of his living room, the music wrapping around us. His hand rested lightly on my back, warm and steady, and I didn’t feel like I had to be the strong one.

When was the last time I danced? At some wedding or party with Jack? I didn’t have the usual milestones with prom, sweet sixteen, and birthday parties to learn to dance. We hadn’t had the kind of wedding where you could dance—but we still had because it was tradition, and Jack had weird ideas about that shit.

We got married at city hall and then had a small reception at one of the local restaurants. Jack hadn’t started his practice but was planning to, and money was tight; if not, he’d have wanted to show off, I was certain. When he married Molly, he probably would.

Jack hadn’t cared about the details, just the cost. “Keep it simple,” he instructed, and I had. Thirty or so people came—mostly his family and a handful of friends. I didn’t have any family to invite, just a couple of people from my foster years and Hillary.

Our first dance had been awkward and stiff, a slow shuffle to some forgettable pop song. He wasn’t a dancer, and I wasn’t either, so we moved in a circle that felt more like an obligation than a moment. I remembered feeling out of place, like I was trying to fit into a picture that wasn’t really mine. It wasn’t a bad wedding, but it wasn’t magical either. It was practical—just like Jack had been for me.

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